


Things We Lost In The Fire

by neversaydie



Series: cock it and pull it [19]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Arguing, Closeted Character, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, shotgun days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: "I can't go from being a journalist to being agay journalist, Jack. I've worked too hard to-""Congratulations, welcome to being a minority! We have to work twice as hard to climb out of the fucking box that neat little qualifier shoves us into!""I can't do that, I can't-""No, youwon'tdo it. There's a difference, and the difference is that you're a fucking coward."[in which Shotgun deals poorly with being in the closet, and Jack has had enough of it.]





	Things We Lost In The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> TW: one use of the actually bad f-word.

"-just because your Daddy hates faggots-"

"That's not what I said! Don't talk about-"

"No, Sammy, I _am_ gonna talk about it. Because I'm a grown man and I can't even tell my best fucking friends I'm in a relationship, that I've been in a relationship for _years_ , and that's not fair."

"You knew-"

"Yeah, I knew," Jack laughs bitterly, and Sammy kind of wishes he'd never tried to pull him out of the home office and away from his precious research this evening. They don't fight often, but Jack can only sit on a frustration for so long before it explodes, and an awkward question about holiday plans had set the fuse. "I get being nervous about coming out later in life, especially in our industry, but you _knew_ back in college, and you didn't want to come out-"

"I've _known_ since I was thirteen, and it hasn't changed shit," Sammy doesn't know why they have to argue about this again, not when they've already said everything they can without anything changing in terrifying ways he can't think about too hard without freaking out. "I can't go from being a journalist to being a _gay journalist_ , Jack. I've worked too hard to-"

"Congratulations, welcome to being a minority! We have to work twice as hard to climb out of the fucking box that neat little qualifier shoves us into!"

"I can't do that, I can't-"

"No, you _won't_ do it. There's a difference, and the difference is that you're a fucking coward," Jack sighs, heavily, and lowers his voice before he speaks again because he doesn't want Sammy to spin out over this before they can finish the conversation.

He's already gone too far, already knows that the only reason Sammy isn't retaliating is because being called a coward echoes his own thoughts too closely, but soft-balling this hasn't worked before, and he feels like they're running out of options.

"I'm telling you - as your boyfriend, not your fucking producer - that this closet shit isn't just hurting you. It's hurting me, and it's hurting us."

"Jack-"

"You're clearly not happy, your drinking is out of control, and… and I don't know if I can live like this forever."

"You…" Sammy's hands twitch in and out of fists, because he knows Jack is right but he doesn't know what to _do_. He can't just stop lying, it's all he has. "You know I can't…"

"Yeah. I do," Jack shakes his head, so crushingly sad that Sammy itches to comfort him - which would be the worst thing he could do in this situation. Jack licks his wounds in private when he's upset, and this might be the most upset he's been. "I… I'm gonna go. I gotta think about some things."

"You- You can't threaten me into coming out!" Sammy calls after him, panicked and totally lost. "That's not fucking fair!"

Jack pauses in the doorway and turns back, his expression unreadable as he meets Sammy's eyes. He looks weary, and for a frightening second Sammy realises what living in secret has done to him, to both of them.

"Sammy, I love you. More than anything in this world. And I would never force you to do something you didn't want to do, but letting you keep lying to yourself and pretending you're fine with it isn't love. If I have to-"

He stops himself and swallows hard, fighting the lump in his throat. Sammy watches with devastation, seeing everything he cares about slip through his fingers while he can't do a damn thing to stop it.

"If I have to lose you, to save you? I'll do it. I care more about you being happy than about having you in my life," Jack turns as his face twists, not willing to let Sammy see him break. He's done breaking over this. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

"Jack, please-" but he's already gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click which is somehow worse than if he'd slammed it. It doesn't sound like anger, it sounds like defeat.

 

 

When Jack comes home, hours later, the house is dark. Sammy is passed out on the couch, half empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table a testament to how he's sleeping so easily, and Jack feels a flash of anger before he notices what's open on the laptop beside the booze.

A doctor's… no, a therapist's website, with the cheery message _Appointment Made_ popped up in front of a digital calendar. It's the biggest step forward Sammy's made in years, and the relief that washes through Jack has him sitting down when his knees go weak. Sammy's going to get help, he's really going to get _help_.

And then, only because Sammy can't see him, Jack starts to cry.


End file.
